Reliving Nightmares
by sunniebelle
Summary: Not able to distinguish dream from reality, Rose struggles to save her Doctor again. Is it a dream or will she lose him forever for real this time? (Possible trigger warning: mentions major character-temporary-death)


Rose Tyler stood alone on a dark street, the asphalt beneath her bare feet as black as pitch. Pale light from the nearly-full moon shone down to reveal a quiet, suburban street. She struggled to remember where she was or why she was there.

Turning around she saw the pale orange back of a tall, rotund alien. She recognized it as a member of the Rextrin Fighter Squad, a hostile alien group that Torchwood had already had several run-ins with in the past.

She watched the alien's back and shoulders flex as he reached to draw a weapon from his side. She saw the focus of the Rextrin's attention, and her breath caught. His gun was trained at her beloved Doctor's brown-suited chest.

She yelled out a warning, but her voice was whisper quiet. _Why can't I project my voice?!_ she asked herself, frustratedly.

Though she ran to try and stop the inevitable, to intercept the ray that would soon be hitting the Doctor, she couldn't seem to run hard or fast enough.

For every step she took, it seemed like the alien and the Doctor were drifting farther and farther away. Why was the Doctor just standing there like a statue? Why wasn't doing something to stop this?!

Her feet pounded into the ground, but it was like she was running through molasses.

She saw the Rextrin's rounded body shimmer and transform before her eyes. Suddenly she was seeing the horrifying outline of a Dalek.

The man-sized pepper pot shot a death ray from its metal whisk arm, the awful mechanical voice repeating its favorite phrase of "EXTERMINATE!"

Rose watched in growing horror as her brown suited Doctor fell to the ground. Seconds—or minutes? Or hours?—later, he tried to stand on unsteady legs. Without warning, he erupted into golden light, emerging the same as before, but in a blue suit.

Before she could do or say anything, the Doctor suddenly staggered backwards, as though he had been hit with an invisible ray from the Dalek.

As her legs began to work properly again, allowing her to draw closer, the Dalek disappeared.

She was suddenly at the Doctor's side, standing over his prone form, but she could see she was too late. She watched his skin grow pale, his eyes turned glassy and dull. Lifeless.

She called out his name, shouting it over and over, but no matter how loudly she shouted, he didn't move or speak, didn't breathe a single breathe.

Sinking to her knees beside him, she felt despair flood through her and settle in her heart, even as a cry of anguish ripped from her throat.

Rose woke suddenly to the feeling of someone shaking her awake and hearing someone screaming.

She saw the Doctor hovering over her, his concerned face close to hers. As her sleep-fogged brain cleared, she realized the person she'd had heard screaming was herself.

The dream came back to her like a flood, and she sat up, gasping for breath through her harsh sobs.

In desperation, Rose pulled the Doctor to her with almost bruising force. He went willingly into her arms, holding her tightly to himself and rocking her slightly. She pressed her face into the hollow of his neck as she cried, unwillingly reliving terrifying memories of her lonely past without him, and trying to sort what was real or a dream.

Finally she calmed enough to feel the Doctor's fingers running soothingly through her hair and in circular patterns on her back. In between gentle kisses on her face and hair, he whispered words of comfort and love.

With a shuddering breath, she sat back enough to see his face—though her hands didn't leave his arms, as though afraid that breaking her touch on him would make him disappear. He lifted his hands to cup her face, his thumbs brushing the apples of her cheeks, before placing a gentle kiss to her lips.

The look he gave her was full of worry and compassion, his eyes conveying his open willingness to listen if she wanted to talk about it.

She didn't know if she could, that nightmare being too close to how that awful day, so long ago, could have gone. She shook her head and simply hugged him again, needing to feel his warm body against hers, to feel the rhythmic beating of his single heart against her chest.

"Too close to reality." She didn't have to elaborate on that statement or explain what she meant. They both had experienced dreams similar to this on occasion—reality and the dream possibilities of the past and future, blurring until they were indistinguishable from one another.

As one, they lay back on the bed, their arms still wrapped around one another. In between whispered words of love, they comforted each other with lingering kisses and touches, relishing the closeness of their bodies pressed together.

Peace slowly settled over them as they drifted off to sleep. For now, nothing could separate them, and as they slipped into a restful, dreamless slumber, they hoped that nothing ever would.

* * *

This turned out to be more angst-y than I intended, but it's where the story wanted to go, so I went with it.  
(Offers virtual cuppa and jammy-dodgers in apology)

(Part of Tumblr's Writer's Month Writing Challenge for August 2019.

All rights for Doctor Who and its characters belong to the BBC.

Day 2- Trope Prompt: hurt/comfort)


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